


Feather Blade

by smolMeeM, Tea_Bags



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: Acceptance, BLU and RED are NOT friendly with each other, Best Buddy Demo, Bloody Suit, Bush Medicine, Canon Typical Violence, Caught in the Act, Dad Engineer, Dad Sniper, Enemies to Lovers, French are sexy, Friends With Benefits To Lovers, Gay, Gentle Surgery, LGBTQ Themes, M/M, No erasure of historical lgbtq+ struggles, Support sandwich, Threesome, Throuple, Walking In, bi!Sniper, complicated!Spy, gay!Medic, internalized homophobia (he’ll work through it), married mercs, no respawn after hours, one relationship sort of established but not really, support classes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-26
Updated: 2020-06-21
Packaged: 2021-02-27 10:40:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 16,526
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22325740
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smolMeeM/pseuds/smolMeeM, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tea_Bags/pseuds/Tea_Bags
Summary: RED Sniper just wants to do his job and earn his much needed paycheck. He never signed up to see BLU Spy doing... *that* to his Medic.With Spy and Medic’s secret out, they’ll have to find ways of keeping him silent. Sniper will not only to learn to deal with the disruption of his routine (and the very intrusive memory ;))  but also survive a dark assassin and a charming sociopath. As all three delve deeper into each others lives, they may discover even darker secrets.
Relationships: BLU Spy/RED Medic, BLU Spy/RED Sniper, Medic/Sniper (Team Fortress 2), Medic/Spy (Team Fortress 2), RED Medic/RED Sniper, RED Medic/RED Sniper/BLU Spy, Sniper/Spy (Team Fortress 2)
Comments: 30
Kudos: 149





	1. Unfortunate Timing

**Author's Note:**

> RED Sniper’s trepidation towards admitting his sexuality was based off SmolMeeM’s own experiences coming from a religious conservative birth family, then embracing it after getting away from her parents and religion, at which point being surrounded by it, realized it was okay and embrace it. Though this universe’s version of Australia wouldn’t be religious, they do hold in high regard extreme masculinity.

The RED team was growing impatient.

Yet no one was willing to go find the man holding them up. Their Medic had a bad habit of being late, often distracted by some strange project or experiment. The mercenaries fell to their usual copes; Scout was pacing, Spy was reading a book, while Demo had, naturally, taken to drinking.

"Where the freaking hell is Medic?" Scout snapped for the fifteenth time.

Sniper had been ready to slam Scout's face into the nearest wall for a while now. He kept rousing him from his dozing, and now it was clear he wouldn’t be getting back to it. "Fuckin'

hell, kid, could y'shut it?"

"No, you shut it! He always does this!"

"We know," he groaned, crushing his slouch hat against his eyes. This was just Medic. He was probably elbow deep in some poor sod's stomach or something equally unpleasant, completely oblivious to time. "We all know, now quit yellin' about it."

“Well, what we gonna do? We can’t just sit here.”

Spy looked up from his book. "If you care so much, Scout, go be productive and go find him."

Suddenly the young man became very still, then shoved his hands in his pockets and shuffled his feet. "Nah, man, I found him last time, you go."

"I wasn’t the one complaining, boy."

“You should be, you're not gonna stay rich if you don’t work.”

“What would you know of my finances?”

“Enough to know Medic is screwin’ all of us!”

That gave him a jolt of guilt. The only thing he hated more than the ankle biter running at the mouth was when he was right. Guilt roiled in his gut, its proverbial toxins seeping up his spine until his shoulders tensed unbearably tight.

"Fuckin'... fine!" Sniper snapped to his feet, startling Soldier to an even more erect ten-hut. " _I'll_ go get him! Then you can bitch about timeliness.”

"Yeah, no, I won’t be..." Once, Scout had tried to lay into Medic... that ended with his vocal cords shoved into a jar and displayed for a week. Scout rubbed his throat as if the scars still itched. “Sure he’s got his reasons.”

"Say thank you to the nice man," Spy snickered.

"Stop freaking talking to me like your my...!" he trailed off, looking mortified at what he was about to admit.

".. like I'm your what?"

“Never freaking mind!” 

Sniper rolled his eyes as he sulked off. He had half a mind to snap at Medic himself, but anything to shut up their Scout would do. And get them paid.

If it wasn’t for his harsh remembrance of why he was in this god forsaken American desert, he might have taken a detour. Maybe get some coffee, maybe feed his pet owl a treat. But no, wasted time means wasted money, money that he desperately needed, money _she_ desperately needed, so instead he made his beeline through the halls to the slightly more modern half of the building. 

As AC units droned an uncomfortable hum in his ear, he hesitated at the infirmary doors, palm resting on the handle. Each and every time, a few moments of mental preparation were needed for a man entering Medic’s workspace. Sniper himself had no problem with gore, human or otherwise, but Medic had an effect that made near everything biological uncomfortable. He steeled himself and opened the door just a crack. A quick peek to make sure he was prepared.

The infirmary seemed empty at first, except for the sounds of sharp breaths, metal creaking and finally a pathetic, “Bitte.”

*The hell is he doin'?* Sniper pushed the door open further and looked in.

It was empty. Even the doves were missing. Medic always had his birds roam free.

He entered, hand on his bolo knife. The sounds were coming from the office on the other side.

“Bitte!”

Again he hesitated at the handle, then he cracked it open.

At first, it did seem Medic was being attacked. He had been shoved backwards over the table, completely helpless to the shadow looming over him. A darker hue immediately registered it as a BLU, the enemy, before his eyes even recognized the Spy’s silhouette.

His suit was rumbled, mask askew, tie loose about his neck as Medic gripped it. Medic wasn’t in his labcoat, his suspenders had been flopped over the edge of the table as if they had been yanked off in the process of... 

At first Sniper's hand creaked around the machete handle, coiling his posture, readying to strike. 

But then he took in the scene before him.

Medic moaned with every stroke of Spy’s hips. He had put an elbow over his eyes, obscuring his visage, but the flushed face, parted lips, the carnal pleasure expressed in each breath… it was clear enough this wasn’t an attack of any kind.

Understanding froze him into place.

Medic was becoming more vocal as Spy worked him, twisting his fingers in his enemy’s lapels.

He came back to his senses. This was... No. Right now was not the time to think about it... or ever! Preferably. Wordlessly, he stepped back to leave.

As he backed away through the door, his watch scraped against the counter. The soft noise seemed deafening when one was trying to be stealthy.

If it had been anyone else, the sound would have gone unnoticed. But BLU Spy wasn’t just anyone.

BLU Spy’s eyes snapped open, locking onto his.

The gaze held Sniper there, as though steel rods were shoved down his spine and through his feet.

His heart leapt into his throat and for a terrifyingly long moment he knew exactly what deer in the headlights meant. Sniper stared back, wide-eyed and near shaking. Oh, he was going to get stabbed and he was going to get worse than stabbed than Medic.

Medic rocked against him enthusiastically, groaning, and Sniper realized BLU Spy had never broken his rhythm, thrusting into the man, who was crying out now, begging in German, gripping his lapels, arching his back, and it was quite clear that the man in the throes. Spy’s eyes slid closed, his teeth clenching before relaxing into euphoria, and that was when Sniper ran.

Looking back, it was neither the most professional nor manliest thing he could have done, and he managed to convince himself he merely exited the situation quickly. He shoved his hands in his pockets, completely at a loss.. There was a Spy, the enemy one, in their base. If he had been doing anything else, anything, it would have been much easier to handle. But no, he was in the middle of fucking their Medic, who was so enthusiastically enjoying it. 

_Green_ , Sniper had noted miserably, before Spy's eyes closed. Such a vibrant colour. They kept appearing though he kept trying to tear himself away from the sin at hand. Definitely green, he decided, lighting a cigarette from a crumpled packet as he stepped into the desert. Unwanted knowledge plagued his brain, and as if the cigarette itself caused it, he threw it away. This day was turning fucking horrendous.

Sniper slowed himself as he made his way across the hardpan. Then he stopped, looking behind him. What the bloody hell, it didn’t even seem real, as if he had dozed off with an overactive imagination. No, if that was BLU Spy… _of course it was BLU Spy, idiot, no one else had bloody eyes like that… STOP THINKING ABOUT HIS EYES…_ a Spy’s speciality was picking off those separated from the group.

He took off again, this time slowing only just as he returned to his teammates.

"He's busy," he managed, taking another cigarette from the packet.

Disgruntled noises rumbled through the entire room. Even Pyro looked annoyed. "What a fucking pile of crap," Scout snapped.

Sniper grunted, eyes dully fixated on the floor. He quietly lit the cigarette and took a drag, only to seize up and choke. He spat it onto the ground and crushed it under the heel of his boot. The smoke had set him off: BLU Spy smoked.

Engineer noticed his discomfort. "You alright there?"

He cleared his throat. "Ah, yeah... sorry. Medic better-" the words caught in his throat. As much as Sniper would've loved to get on with the match, seeing Medic was not something he wanted right now. What if the Spy told him? Medic would have more than just his head.

He pretended to cough into his elbow. "- better hurry up," he finished uncomfortably.

Engineer nodded in understanding. "What he's working on that bad, huh?".

Sniper nodded once. "Yeah. Y'could say that."

Dread started to build up in his gut. He and Medic never really interacted within matches. It wouldn't be hard to avoid him at the risk of a few more deaths. The BLU Spy however... it was the BLU Spy's job to kill Sniper. There was no way of completely avoiding him throughout the day. Sniper could lessen it though. Keep their interactions as short and as infrequent as possible. With any luck, he wouldn’t have to deal with what he saw.

He started to formulate a plan. Every ten to twenty minutes or after every shot he took, he would move. There would be less kills but he would rather that then have to interact with the enemy. On the inevitable and extremely unfortunate chance they meet, he would keep it quick. Kill the Spy quickly or be killed quickly. Good plan.

Medic was positively beaming when walked through the door a few minutes later, straightening his tie and smoothing over his rumpled hair.

"Ah, hallo team!"

"You're late!" several voices chorused.

"Oh, I'm sorry, I found a little thirsty snake on the way here that I simply had to take to my lab and water. Such a fascinating color pattern!".

"Liar!"

"You have dishonored this entire unit."

"We know exactly what you do to random animals, docteur," Spy muttered, not looking up from his novel.

"Well, I released him now," Medic said brightly, not missing a beat. "Now, we don't want to be late, do we?"

"We already are freaking late!"

This conversation was agonizing. Sniper wished he didn't know. He wished from the bottom of his heart that he didn't know exactly what 'thirsty snake' Medic was referring to. So many dismissed comments started making sense and he hated it.

It was nearly painful to have to look at Medic. All he could see was his flushed face and- _Stop, stop right there._

Sniper snatched up his rifle and hauled the strap over his head. Tonight he would be drinking everything away with Demo. He could count on Demo.

Medic gave Sniper a curious, lingering glance, before turning away to put on his pack.

**_Mission begins in 30 seconds._ **

Sniper paled. Did Medic know? Oh fuck, if he knew... Of course he knows, why wouldn't BLU Spy tell him? He was so… bloody... fucked.

_Bad wording._

Machete sheathed, rifle secured, shooting aviators on and hair tied back, Sniper was the first out of the gate. He was quick to set up, and grabbed a few early round skirmish kills before falling victim to the enemy soldier's rockets. After the initial madness and a quick respawn, he put his plan into action. Moving whenever he took a shot or after ten minutes. A couple more deaths - from moving around so much - and he settled into a private nook off to the side of the battlefield. The BLU Scout was wisening up and using more obscure routes to get past. Sniper couldn’t allow that to continue.

He'd gone past the ten minute mark about seven minutes ago but it was quiet over on this side of the battlefield. Quiet enough that he figured no one would find him; even the enemy Spy hadn't caught him. In fact, he hadn’t seen him all match. This was going swimmingly, although he considered moving to a slightly more active area. The Scout could've moved and it was a good chance to grab a few more headshots.

"Few more minutes," he muttered. “A few more minutes, nothin’ more…”

“My, my, our little voyeur is being tricky today.”

Instinct was a godsend. Sniper didn't jump or yelp anymore. Instead, he whirled around, his hand flew to the machete’s handle. _Kill him quickly, move on._

Except he didn't kill quickly. He faltered. This was bound to happen, he knew that, but he couldn't help seizing up. The Spy's voice threw him and all he could think about was his hips thrusting, the pale expanse of his navel where his shirts had ridden up, dusted with a trail of dark....

_Shut up._

Details he hadn’t even processed yet were now conjuring themselves, holding the image aloft, superimposing them on his mental image of BLU Spy to properly take in the details. He pressed a heel of his palm to his eye, trying to get his mind back into focus. Anything that didn’t involve half naked Spy, gay Spy, sexualized Spy. This was a battle.

_Speaking of_ , _you jinxed it._

_~_

Spy had been run through with that machete back when he underestimated the RED Sniper. His awkward manner and the way he shuffled about made one conclude he couldn’t move that gangly body quickly or precisely. However, in truth he fought like a wild animal, tearing and slashing, blind with emotions of fear and rage. Spy had been almost surprised he hadn’t used his teeth like a rabid dog.

He remained cloaked as he maneuvered around him. He hadn’t started swinging, that was a good sign.

Sniper's eyes darted wildly behind the yellow lenses. Spy could almost hear his enemy’s panicked heart hammering in his chest, hear him internally screaming ‘where is he?”

He paused on the Sniper’s right “My, my, I must have given you a shock.”

This time he didn't hesitate. Sniper swung.

Spy had already kept himself out of reach, so the machete passed centimeters from his chest. This was a good sign, threat to his life notwithstanding.

But RED Sniper had acted differently. Which meant he hadn’t imagined it when he looked up to see him in the doorway. That shocked look, a deer frozen in headlights, no, in the flood lamp of a runaway train, was priceless, but it presented a problem.

He closed the distance, approaching from Sniper’s left.

~~

Sniper swung to the right again, this time stepping forward only to meet empty air. _Where?_ He spun, looking around in alarm.

"Where are you, y'fuckin' snake-" he started in a low growl, then his voice caught. _'Little thirsty snake!'_ Medic's cheerful words rang through his head, and once again he was plagued of this morning's regrets.

“Something the matter?”

Sniper gave himself a mental shake. He readjusted his grip on the machete. "S-stop hidin'!" And there was the stammer. He clenched his jaw. _Kill quickly. Move on._

“And why would I do that?” Just by his tone Sniper could hear him smirking. Killing quickly was now out of the question. Move on was not. Sniper glanced at the doorway. A few steps is all it would take. He needed the kill but... Prue. There would be others. Staying here was a waste of time. The chances of him winning this fight were low and he couldn't be bothered to deal with the harassment.

And the Medic thing, he admitted to himself. It was mostly the Medic thing.

"Kill me quickly or fuck off," he muttered, shifting his weight ever so slightly. His exit was only a few paces away.

“Oh? In a hurry are we?”

Cold metal was pressed against Sniper’s throat, and Spy materialized in front of him. Smoke curled up from his cigarette, creating a thin veil between the smoldering tip and his hat’s brim.

Sniper's eyes snapped wide as he froze. He swallowed against the blade. Anton-Luc glanced down appreciatively as the Sniper’s adams apple bobbed, barely grazing over the knifepoint. Green eyes. The same ones that stared back at him this morning. Strange how he barely noticed them before and now they were seared into his brain.

"B-bastard. Stop fuckin' about," he hissed, despising the tremble in his voice.

A smile curled his lips, “No, I think not. In fact, as long as I keep you from shooting my colleagues, I’m doing my job.”

Sniper pressed himself into the wall. Even being just a few more millimeters away from the enemy made him feel better. He did not like the way Spy watched his throat or the way he was smiling or what he said or how he phrased it-

_He was closer than this to Medic, and Medic was loving it._

_No, no._

_I can smell his cologne, his cigarette, fuck, he wouldn’t have been able to shower, that could be Medic’s aftershave._

_Shut up!_

A disgusting amount of colour rose to his cheeks as he jerked his head back, accidentally exposing more of his throat.

"G-get away," he warned, baring his teeth. A poor attempt at appearing threatening.

“I could argue that keeping you occupied carries out my duties much more than killing you, wouldn’t you agree?” Spy replied casually.

'Occupied' carried so much weight, especially now.

"What d'you..." like a fool, he just had to ask. Despite not wanting to know the answer, he asked.

“Oh, I think you know exactly what I mean.”

The panic on his face, accompanied by short, stuttering breaths, were clear now. "Y'... y'fuckin' sick."

“Am I? I don’t recall ever watching two people have sex. Uninvited, at least. Unlike someone we know.”

"That wasn't- I wasn't- Y'shouldn't even be in our base fuckin' our Medic anyway!"

“Perhaps, but polite people don’t linger at the doorway just watching.”

"I-I wasn't watchin'!" He sputtered, heat rising with every word. "I was fuckin' shocked! Y'were just there- bangin' the bloody Medic! Y-y'think I wanted t'see that?"

“I see,” Spy replied. “Perhaps not, but then again, why are you getting so worked up?".

"I-I ain't!" Sniper hissed, clenching his jaw at the tremble in his voice.

"Well, the sight of two men having sexual relations didn't really put you off."

"The hell are y'sayin'...?"

"You must have been exposed to it before. Perhaps even partook…?”

"I ain't queer!"

He wasn't. He absolutely was not. Never in a million years would he ever like men. He may be skinny, a toothpick, and couldn’t bench press a car, but one insult, one assumption, he would never allow to stick. All the jeers in his youth, calling him a fairyboy, bottom bitch, queer. Even Aussie women tender to have burlier, robust frames than him: if he wasn’t gay a woman would still have to top, that was the joke. He scowled. No, he might have had thoughts, appreciated male forms while a horny teen, but he _wasn’t_. That’d just be stereotypical. That’d be against Australian values. It’d be yet another way he didn’t live up to the Australian ideal. It’d be another way he didn’t live up to his father’s expectations.

Besides, he had a kid. Queers couldn't make kids!

”No one is saying you are. I’m French, we know that you don't necessarily have to be one or the other. In the end, sex is sex.”

"M'not fuckin' queer, y'perv! Never once thought about blokes like that," he snapped, the muscles in his forearms fluttering as he clenched his fists too long and tight. "Can't y'just kill me now?"

“I thought we already established this. You were making quite a nuisance of yourself.”

Sniper just wanted to be through with this. "So what, we're just gonna fuckin' stand here all day?"

“Perhaps. If you’re so bored, perhaps we can talk, if the topic interests me.”

"I don't have time for a bloody chitchat-"

Sniper froze up immediately after Spy moved closer, still staring directly into his eyes. It was only a few centimeters closer, but it felt like Spy was squeezing the very air around him, invading his personal space. Sniper tried to move away but there was only so far he could push himself into the wall.

Then there were those eyes. Green, he validated for the hundredth time that day. They were certainly green. Mesmerizingly so. Even through the tinted lenses of his shooting aviators. It was impossible to look away.

"S-stop," he managed, machete forgotten as another bout of red crept up his collar.

Ever so slightly, Spy tilted the knife point so it brushed against where the skin pulsed. It was so fast, beating beneath the collar, skin slowly turning the same shade of red. Interesting.

Spy smirked, “Why are you blushing? If I didn’t take men at their word, Sniper...”

He was reaching for the machete. It would be a simple sleight of hand, and honestly, perhaps he was being overly cautious, he probably could get the machete away by sheer intimidation. But no, wild animals had a tendency to strike out if nothing distracted them, even if doing so would get them hurt..

Sniper's breathing hitched and he had to fight to suppress a whine. "I-I'm... stop it..."

He unknowingly tilted his head, exposing more of his throat. That damn blade was so distracting, that bloody smirk too. All he could think about was this morning, that look on Spy's face-

This was going too far, this was going way too far. Spy somehow knew what he liked. He knew exactly what to do to make Sniper's legs like jelly, make his head all fuzzy, make him this flustered, make him feel so- STOP.

He wasn't gay! He didn't like fucking men, he didn't like sucking dick and he wasn't bloody queer. So then why was he stood here, trembling, completely at Spy's mercy, unable to think straight? Had this morning really messed him up that badly?

Did he need this so badly?

He could smell the crisp smoke, his lips parted to draw it in. Spy tilted his head ever so slightly, and to the end of his life Sniper would deny he tilted his too, his body betraying him…

Spy snatched the machete’s handle and ripped it out of Sniper’s grip. He tossed it away, stepping back.

And just like that Sniper snapped out of his homoerotic trance. The machete clattered across the floor, the noise making him flinch.

Oh. His massive knife. He'd forgotten about it in his haze.

Sniper looked dumbfounded for a moment. One second he was near begging for Spy's intimacy, the next he was standing like an idiot. He looked down at his empty hand and felt an odd sense of betrayal.

Spy smirked triumphantly, a familiar one of arrogance and amusement.

“Now with that out the way,” he said, glancing at his watch. “I hope you’d be less inclined to stab me while we wait.”

Yet as always, Sniper was a manly man. He would not go down lightly. The familiar comforting rush of anger took hold to replace all those nasty emotions. This had gone on long enough.

Letting Spy get away with this would be a crushing defeat. He slipped his spare knife down his sleeve, slashing at Spy.

He had taken him off guard, again. Spy evaded with the expectation his sudden attack to be with his fist, not extended with a knife. The cigarette flew from his mouth as the tip sliced open his mask’s cheek and the flesh beneath. Seething, shocked, angry, he ducked under his next attack, passing his balisong over RED Sniper’s navel as he went past.

Sniper snarled, chopping down at Spy, the surge of adrenaline masking the severity of his wound. The fight had finally begun, not giving him time to worry about stomach gashes cascading blood onto the floor.

Spy managed to twist out of the way and slammed himself back against the wall Sniper was previously pressed against. He caught Sniper’s swing by crossing his forearms and catching it in the middle. The edge of the bladequiveried mere millimeters from his face.

Sniper was panting now, glaring with a burning ferocity. How dare this bloody ponce saunter up to him, accuse him of being a queer then do _that_ to him.

He growled and raised his knife again- or tried to. The weight on Spy's arms increased. Sniper felt his legs tremor, on the verge of giving way. Something warm and wet spread over his pelvis and thighs. He looked down.

Sliced intestines peeked through the gaping hole in his abdomen. Blood seeped into his clothes, staining his shirt and pants a darker red.

"Oh," he mumbled.

Spy took the opportunity to bodily shove him away. He slipped from the wall, skirting around the edge of Sniper's reach. He took out his cigarette case.

Sniper hit the floor with a grunt, the impact forcing more viscera through the wound with a wet pop. He groaned. Bleeding through the edges of adrenaline, he could feel a sickening pain twisting in his gut.

"Wanker," he whispered, forcing himself onto his back with a grunt. "Bloody wanker."

The movements only served to further worsen the gash, more insides squeezed out, slicked in blood. Sniper dropped his head back and stared at the ceiling.

“Now why did you do that?” He said after he took a long drag of his cigarette. He had put away his knife in favor of his revolver.

"Y'took m'knife," he muttered. Glazed eyes looked over Spy from behind skewed lenses. "Wanker."

“Normal people get less aggressive when they’re disarmed,” Spy scoffed, avoiding the Sniper’s pained expression. He walked over to the machete, picking it up and looking over its handle and blade for any distinctiveness. “Does this really have that much sentimental value to you?”

It was a typical bolo knife, specifically jungle bolo, with worn hardwood handle wrapped in cracked old leather. Around the base of the blade, where it met the handle, small flowering vines had been etched. It was clearly well-used and well-cared for. Several drops of blood spattered onto the blade, running from his cheek.

Sniper knew this wasn't really about the knife, more everything else that had happened. It made for a nice scapegoat, although he was quite livid when Spy handled his weapon. "Why d'you care?"

“Because that was an odd reaction, for what you’re claiming,” he muttered, tossing it back over so that it skittered over the floorboards to rest by Sniper’s side. “Now would you like me to put you out of your misery or do you hope your Medic will answer you?”

He opened his mouth to berate Spy for throwing it, but decided better.

"Didn't y'hear me the first hundred times?" Some sort of bitter smile made its way across Sniper's paling lips. "Stop fuckin' about n'kill me."

Spy rechecked his watch, and looked like he was about to ignore his request, but then caught the pain in Sniper’s eyes. His gaze traveled down to the gruesome wound he had left.

“Very well,” he said, leveling the gun to Sniper’s head, aiming between the eyes.


	2. Misunderstandings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sniper makes a grave mistake.

Sniper’s eyes squeezed shut.

When they opened, the harsh white walls and blinding lights of his respawn pod greeted him before spitting him out.

Phantom pains roiled in his stomach. Sniper passed a large hand over his navel, lifting his shirt. Brazen skin clothed his abdomen. Not an entrail in sight.

"Well," he muttered, quietly repressing a shudder.

“Is that where the fuck you were?” Scout whined as he stumbled out his own pod. “Feeling yourself up instead of covering me?”

Scout had never been one with reasonable expectations.

Sniper was about to retort but then respawn’s haze cleared. He remembered BLU Spy’s near coquetry… and the attack, and for a short moment he remained silent, mouth open, face redder than he would’ve liked.

It didn't last. He recovered quickly, deeply embarrassed by how affected he was.

"Maybe if y'weren't so shit at your job I wouldn't have t'cover you all the time," Sniper glared, tucking his shirt back in, hastily so he wouldn’t be mistaken for having his hands down his pants.

“Me? Shit? If you’re better go out there on the front lines then! You’d be more useful than hiding up in your pisshole!”

Before Sniper had a chance to snap back, the door slid up, revealing a flushed face, panting, and very sweaty Medic.

Sweaty, red and panting. Just like this morning. Sniper paled, half expecting to find the BLU Spy hammering Medic from behind. 

Get it together, Sniper growled to himself, convinced that his previous encounter was Either way, he just wanted to be as far from Medic as possible. There was no way he was going to fail the second part of his evasion plan.

"Y-yeah, you're right. Let's go, kid." Sniper disgustingly swallowed his pride and used Scout as an escape. "Go show me how it's done."

Scout looked very pleased with himself, arrogance soaring but Medic ruined those plans.

Medic dabbed his brow, smearing some blood on his glove over his forehead as he scanned the room. Finding only Scout and Sniper. He looked at the other pods, but found none of the timers running. With a disgruntled groan, he said, “Scout, run me up to the frontlines,” he panted, latching the medibeam on the young man.

“Sorry, I’m gonna show Sniper how to finally use his legs.”

Medic spared Sniper a cool glance. As cheerful and pleasant as he was off the battlefield, his mood could quickly sour with unresponsive or unwilling teammates. Scout fidgeted.

“I’m sure Sniper already knows how to use his legs,” he said.

"Medic's right," Sniper quickly switched tactics. He straightened up, shouldering his rifle. "Get him up there, Scout. Y'can show me later."

He narrowly had to avoid saying 'get him away from me'.

“You bet,” Scout said. “You need those moves, and gotta learn from the best!”

With the Medigun, and science many people couldn’t possibly understand, Medic could run faster and more easily when latched onto Scout. The same way with the quickfix meant he could stay with Soldier while soaring through the air.

Sniper decided that he would continue his strategy of avoiding Spy, this time keeping to the strict ten minute mark. Which reminded him, Wonder what the watch thing was about.

The enemy has taken our intelligence.

They disappeared back out the door.

Sniper hovered around for a little longer to think about his next course of action. Avoiding the BLU Spy for the rest of the match was his top priority, (Medic was his second). Something told him that the snake wasn't done with him yet.

Going back to the outskirts would be a good idea but the BLU Spy already knew that plan so Sniper needed to switch it up.

Scout complaining about the lack of cover gave him an idea.

Sniper gave his rifle a once over and headed out, straight to the most obvious and most used sniping nest.

Sniper thought he was being clever. He was even quite proud of himself.

It took a little longer then he would've liked to. Being closer to the action provided higher risk (which was strangely welcome. Anything to help distract from recent events was a godsend) and one needed much more caution when maneuvering. Somehow he managed to make it to his nice little spot without hassle.

The large wooden tower was just off-center of the battlefield. It provided a nice view of the center and, with careful positioning, he could nearly see the BLU's respawn, just blocked off by a concrete outbuilding of some kind. It was in plain sight of the main fight, so Sniper had no doubt that a couple of shots would get him noticed. No matter. He needed the action right now.

Sniper took aim. The world around him focused to a tiny pinpoint. His breathing slowed, the ball of his finger ran over the trigger and he waited.

Anxiety kicked in far too quickly. It reached into his tunnel vision and filled it with images of backstabs and flushed faces and knives and breathy exhales... He wrenched away from his scope and looked around. Nothing. No sounds, no movement. He was safe for now.

Sniper turned back to his gun and focused in. He just needed to concentrate. Look! There was the BLU Pyro now. Crosshairs aligned over the mumbling creature's mask. Even when shot with a high caliber, the rubber mask kept everything contained within. He hoped one day he could get the sweet spot to make it tear open and reveal the face within.

Pay attention. He snapped back around again, machete drawn.

Wide eyes searched the room, darting from crate to crate, checking the door frame meticulously. Nothing. There was nothing. Slowly, he turned back to his work, glancing one last time over his shoulder.

Three shots, he promised. Three shots here then move.

As he was scanning the battlefield for his next target, he saw RED Scout, dead. Meaning Medic was probably alone, again, unless he found Soldier or Heavy.

Sniper kept missing easy shots. It was exhausting. Every time he looked down his scope he expected a blade at his throat and a smokey voice murmuring in his ear.

Heat kept building down into his core and creeping up his collar.

"I'm not gay!" He hissed to himself. "Not fuckin' gay. M'not. I don't like any of what I saw!" Sniper huffed, bared his teeth at the wall and growled. It was very manly and very Australian, very not gay. He pressed his legs for a moment, then regretted what he felt and threw them back wide. "It's just been a while. Don't mean nothing."

Scoped into the field, he watched their Medic move towards the Heavy. Yet again he was dragged back to the events of this morning. Medic, suspenders thrown off, panting and red, begging in German and moaning like there was no tomorrow. Would Heavy look so happy to see him if he had seen him like that?

Well, it would've been quite attractive if Medic had been a woman. As if he needed t'be a woman for that t'be hot.

"No," he muttered, rubbing his eyes furiously with the heels of his palm, pointedly ignoring the tightening in his pants. "Nah, no, nada. Not queer. No."

He glared out of the window at Medic. If it wasn't getting to him before, it was now. He’d always been appreciative of Medic’s long legs and graceful gait. Though it was looking a bit… off. Maybe he was tired, maybe...

Heavy turned back from looking over his shoulder around, a smile on his face, words of thanks forming on his lips, but Medic was suddenly shimmering, changing. The lab coat became a blue suit, and, without breaking stride, he slammed his blade in Heavy's back. The giant man yelled out, shoulders tensing and drawing up in an instinctual defensive posture that came far too late, before falling over dead.

It wasn't even the real Medic. Spy was fucking with him again. He was doing this on bloody purpose.

If he was focused on fighting he would have fucking noticed.

Sniper swung up his rifle and took aim. This time he was going to win. The scope’s crosshairs trembled over Spy.

The shot went wide. Fuck. He shot too fast.

Spy froze, looking at the point of impact, then the sound of the shot. As he turned, his eyes quickly found the window Sniper was in. His lips curled in amusement as he caught the rifle scope flash, looking directly into it, directly into his eyes, before yanking out the bloodied knife.

Sniper reloaded reload, but he had cloaked.

He stared. Dread pooled in his stomach. Spy had disappeared by the time he brought his scope back up.

"Piss off," he muttered. "Stay the bloody hell away." He shouldered his rifle and he slipped through the doorway, unsheathing his machete, straining his ears for the Spy. BLU Spy was better at hand to hand, but a long rifle at close range was rarely a good idea. No, all he needed was an ambush and one good chop.

All was quiet, at least as quiet as a battlefield could get. Then there it was, the sound of running steps on hard packed earth.

Odd for the Spy to be making so much noise, but then again, there was no point in being stealthy when your enemy knew you were coming. He was probably doing it to cause panic or be a dick in general.

Sniper readied his knife and shifted his weight into a fighting stance, eyes glued to the entrance. This time he would be ready.

Medic turned the corner, trying to head through the door, but eyes lit upon seeing him. “Oh, Sniper! Thank gott! Quickly, their Pyro-!”

Sniper didn't hesitate. He couldn’t afford to hesitate. He charged, roaring, swinging his machete in a huge arc.

Medic stumbled back, a noise of strangled surprise noise escaping him, shielding himself from the blow with his medigun. 

“Was zur Hölle, dummkoph?!”

"Don't try that shit with me," he growled, furiously slashing at Medic again, then again. "Fuckin'... bloody... wanker!"

“I’m not him!” Medic snapped, catching the next blow with the side of his Medigun. “Give me a chance. I’ll show you!”.

"Gut me again y'mean?" Sniper charged Medic.

“Wait, wait!”

Sniper tackled him to the ground. Medic’s his spine cracked against his medipack when he fell. He hadn’t enough time to respond to the pain, instead trying to use the medigun trapped between them as brace to throw Sniper off, or at least hold him at bay.

"You bloody perverted bastard." Sniper grabbed Medic by the front of his jacket to steady himself. "First the shit from this mornin'," he hissed, raising the blade, "then just earlier," he angled to Medic's throat, "and now this."

At first Medic was going to plead that this was a misunderstanding, that BLU Pyro was chasing him. He could smell his smoke already, hear the hiss of his flamethrower.

But then he thought he wasn’t talking about Spy. He was very much aware that he was Medic, and this was revenge, for daring to be with a man. His own teeth bared as he abandoned his medigun to reach for his ubersaw at his hip, ripping it off its clip as he sliced open his thigh.

The pain threw Sniper off as he stabbed, the edge missed the arteries as it sliced open the side of his neck, missing the arteries. Bright red blood, no shimmer. No BLU.

“Wrong one.” French, snickering, behind him.

Sniper didn’t have time to turn around.

~

Medic shoved the limp body off him with one arm, fuming, clamping his other hand over his neck wound. He met Spy’s eyes. They had heard what he said.

But BLU Spy couldn’t help himself, “I didn’t expect you to look as good under another man.”

“Schwienhund,” he muttered. Clearly his anger wasn’t going to go away that easily. “Schutzstaffel.”

Spy knew it wasn’t directed towards him, but…

The excited mumbles of BLU Pyro, the breath through a gas mask, and the ever-present sound of a propane flame was close now.

“Töte ihn."

“I’ll take care of it,” he nodded, raising his revolver. Medic looked grateful to have the mercy bullet put between his eyes.

BLU Pyro mumbled in disappointment as arrived, turninh its goggles accusingly at Spy.

“Perhaps that get up makes you too slow to catch anything,” Spy offered. “It wouldn’t the only detrimental thing it does for your form.”

BLU Pyro looked down at themselves, then slumped, covering their midsection, mumbling sadly.

~

Sniper awoke with a start in respawn. A swirl of confusion, like when one waking up in a place other than their bed, but with more vertigo. He stumbled out of his pod, fight a wave of nausea, wondering why he had such an impending sense of doom.

"Oh... oh fuck." He'd wrongly attacked Medic. Medic, who had a certain charismatic madness and an unrivalled passion for scientific advancement. 

They weren't particularly close, but he respected the man. His work on and off the field was high standard and certainly respectable, despite the less savory aspects of his work.

And... of course... the birds. Just hearing the cooing from inside infirmary doors as he passed by made him smile. On the inside of course.

Then Sniper attacked Medic when he needed cover. When Medic was seeking him out for help. Guilt twisted his guts. 

He needed to apologize. The moment he came out of the respawn. He put his hat in his hand, smoothing out his frazzled hair, trying to his rehearse his apology.

Medic appeared a few moments later, stepping outside his respawn chamber with his hand already on his ubersaw. That was when Sniper’s blood ran cold.

Medic made directly for Sniper, face twisted in a fury that neither Sniper nor the rest if his team had ever seen before. They had all seen him irritated with them, yes, and lusting for blood (particularly for the BLU Medic’s) but this was a different kind, radiating from his core of his very being.

"Wait, no- I-" Sniper threw up his hands, backing up. Oh shit, oh fuck. He was the target of pure fury.

Medic snatched him by the front of his shirt, lifting him and slammed him against the nearest wall.

Being in a support role, usually a passive Medic, people often forget how strong Medic was. Lifting and carrying dead weight and running around with a heavy backpack faster than most could unhindered had kept him in shape to have quiet strength. Though it certainly wasn’t quiet now.

“If you have a problem with me, Flachwichser, you do not take ambush me on ze battlefield!”

“He did what?” Heavy had been waiting for Medic, only now did Sniper notice they weren’t alone. 

Sniper's feet scrabbled against the floor. Panic filled his eyes. "W-wait! I thought y'were that Spy! I didn't- I saw him get Heavy then y'came in so I thought y'were him!" He squirmed in Medic's grasp. "Doc, I wouldn't just get y'like that!"

“I heard what you said,” Medic hissed, lowering his voice. “I swear I will....”

“He attacked you?” Heavy had already set down his gun in favor of cracking one set of knuckles. 

Medic’s stare seemed to bore straight through Sniper, smoldering the wall behind him. Sniper could see him contemplating running him through with his ubersaw, just to see how much blood he could collect with a single stab.

Engineer stepped up beside them, hands held up in placating way. “Whoa now, hold on, all of us had our moments where spychecking went bad, right? A punch too hard, a bit of singed behind, but that's no reason to turn on each other!”

It wasn't just a hard punch though, was it? It wasn’t a knife and intent to kill.

"Doc, mate" he begged. "I didn't mean t'take it that far, it wasn't- I wasn't- I'm sorry, please. Y'know I'd never- If I'd known it was you I wouldn't have. M'sorry, I'm really bloody sorry, mate."

For a moment, Medic was going to take it further, but then he let him go. “We’ll resolve this after the battle, Sniper.”

Sniper really didn’t like the sound of that.

“There ya go,” Engineer said, using the opportunity to come between them. “Talk when you got your heads cooled off.”

Medic took a moment to straighten his coat and gloves, smooth his forelock and effectively regained composure. Sniper stood frozen, still against the wall, like a cat who hoped standing perfectly still meant the feral dog wouldn’t see him.

When he and Heavy left, Engineer said guffawed, rubbing the back of his neck, “Damn boy, I’ve never seen him that angry before. I thought he was gonna rip your intestines out right there.”

Sniper peeled himself from the wall, heart thrumming, tremors in his hands. This was it. This would be the night he’d die. Permanently. At the hands of some of his own teammate.

"I fucked up, Engie," he ran a hand through his damp hair. "I really fucked up."

“Its ok, he won’t...” the reassurance died in his throat. “A few kills or so and his head will clear up, y’know how he is.”

"Bloody hope so," he mumbled, dropping down on one of the benches. "I just... I really thought it was that Spy. Didn't even give the poor bloke a chance. Just went for him. God, I fucked up."

“Odd for him to take it so personal. I still remember him thinking I was a spy and getting a couple rounds for it,” he chuckled. He patted Sniper’s shoulder. “Just stay away from him for now, alright? Gotta...”

His PDA beeped out a warning. “Ah, hell...”

With that he ran out of the respawn room.

Sniper watched him go. He left a few minutes later, when one of the pod timers switched on. He just wanted someplace quiet, away from people. Funny how it always worked out better that way for everyone involved.

This whole situation had spiraled out of control in such a short amount of time. Damn it. He never should have gone to get Medic. He should have just let Scout and Spy argue with each other until Medic came on his own.

Bad choice of words.

He groaned. What was he going to do? Medic had committed acts of “surgery” o his teammates for less. Take out his vocal chords like Scout? No, that was just for annoying him. No, he’d probably perform surgery on him while awake, holding his beating heart in front of his eyes, without anesthetic. Under the knife, Medic could do anything. Even Heavy could attest to that. Even Heavy knew not to cross him to the point he even let Medic talk down to him… Didn’t help that Medic knew exactly which rib was missing, because Medic was the one to remove it. Sniper had found it accidentally just grazing past Heavy and the man winced in pain and nearly doubled over. It was direct hole to punch the giant man’s lungs.

That's what Medic was going to do, remove to important bone and he’d have a weak spot to exploit forever.

Or worse. There were so many worse things. Having his hands cut off and replaced with tentacles, his head chopped off and replaced with a horse head. Medic had managed to do a lot of things people shouldn’t. And it was rarely pleasant when he brought “live human volunteers” to his lab. Thank god he lived in his van and not where he couldn’t hear the rumored screaming.

He would be worried about Heavy or Soldier beating him to death on Medic’s behalf, but honestly that’d be much more preferable.

Sniper quickly slipped into a building. He checked behind him, then his watch, then sat down to do his job.

Yet again, every five seconds, he was looking over his shoulder, now not just for Spy but an infuriated Medic. There was no way he was going into the base any time soon. He’ll have to keep both eyes open. Today was turning into a shit storm.

~

Today was turning out excellent.

Who knew letting RED Sniper to catch them having sex would be so effectively ruin his competence? He could have made his job easier a month ago. He managed to keep the RED Sniper of the battlefield for fifteen minutes!

And the entertainment value was always icing on the cake.

Though Spy wasn’t exactly sure he’d try to out Medic to everyone else. He wasn’t particularly worried about himself, REDs calling them every name under the sun had little effect on BLUs opinions of each other. But Sniper accusing his own Medic of sexual misconduct with the enemy Spy, now that could do some damage, particularly if it snowballed into a BLU problem as well.

This morning RED Medic had confirmed RED Sniper kept to himself, and wasn’t a gossip, and that may be true, but he was still a threat to operations. And now Medic himself had went back on his assessment.

He’d leave Sniper to his own paranoia for the rest of the battle, which should be over soon anyway, then he’ll pay him a visit, after hours.

Well, just after kicking the doorframe on his way out and watching RED Sniper shout and whirl around his machete. It’d be a long time before that got old.


	3. No Peace

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lots of man talk this chapter, heh.

Now Sniper had to deal with the rest of his team and, worst of all, Medic.

  
Sniper had tried, their team tried, but the breakdown in team cohesion and rhythm allowed them to only capture one more intelligence before BLU scout ran from intel room to intel room, leading to their most humiliating defeat.

  
The tension in the waiting room was palpable. Teammates were blaming Medic for making them late and subsequently losing their edge, people were blaming Sniper for not taking shots, then of course yelling at Scout for being annoying. Thankfully, Soldier resolved that by strangling him, which even the Engineer allowed to go on a few moments longer than strictly necessary.

  
Demo was nice enough to guide his friend Sniper out of the respawn room before things got all directed on the fact he somehow made Medic angry enough to lose almost every ounce of composure.

  
Demo was a godsend.

  
"Thanks," Sniper murmured once they were safely outside. He'd been quiet to all the criticism thrown his way, just letting his team get it all out. He definitely deserved it after that performance.

  
“Ye alright, mate?” Demo said. “Ye havenae been looking too peachy today.”

  
Sniper didn’t reply, keeping his hat low over his eyes.

  
“Right, ye look like ye need a drink.” He passed his scrumpy bottle to him.

  
"Thanks." Sniper took a sip, paused for a moment, then raised it again and had a full swig.

  
“Ye can have that whole thing if ye let me get to my room and get more,” he said, as Sniper squirmed against the alcohol’s strength, then went back for more. “This is a good night to be drinkin’.”

  
Sniper grunted.

  
“Meet ye at yer van?”

As always, Demo had excellent advice."Yeah, okay, mate."

  
“Buck up, it's not like they’ll fire ye for one bad match,” Demo grinned before heading off toward his room.  
"That ain't what m'worried about," he mumbled under his breath.

  
Despite his fatigue, Sniper moved swiftly to his van. Avoiding teammates was his new top priority, followed closely by getting completely piss drunk. He unlocked the door, slipping inside after a quick glance over his shoulder. The door was then relocked within the same breath. Paranoia lasted into off-field hours.

  
A quiet hiss showed everything was in order. His barn owl, Chouette, was sleeping on her perch. Or had been. She watched him with a calm, narrowed gaze, then returned, one eye at a time, to her owly slumber.

  
He spent a few moments tidying around, hiding important documents like medical bills and fake ID renewals, sweeping up polaroids and unused film, shoving his dirty cup off to the side, even making his bed. How polite. Now all that was left was to wait for Demo. Just sit here, alone, and wait. Alone, with his thoughts.

  
Sniper turned on the radio.

  
And immediately turned it off as French warbles drifted through the tinny speakers.

  
He shoved the radio away, muttering as he shook his head. Instead he picked at his fingernails, let down then retied his hair, cleaned Choutette’s perch (getting hissed at for his troubles) and did anything to distract himself from the day’s… events.

  
Demoman showed up about fifteen minutes later, bottles cradled in his arms. “Yer gonna love this, my ma just sent me an aged batch.”

  
"Your ma's a bloody saint," he relaxed into a grin, opening the door. "Give her m'love next time y'speak."

  
“She’ll probably tell ye to get a job. It's her way of saying hello,” Demo chuckled. He handed a bottle off as he stepped up through the threshold. “Slàinte mhath, and a many more drinks as well!”

  
Their bottles clinked together.

  
"Cheers mate!" Sniper popped off the cap with his smaller knife and took a gulp. He hummed appreciatively. Nice and strong with a sharp apple tang. Easy to get drunk from. "That's bloody well good," he sighed, offering a hand to take off Demo's cap too.

  
Chouette hissed from the corner and ruffled up her feathers. The men were making too much noise.

As Sniper worked his bottle open, Demo admired Chouette from a safe distance, “Och, the missus is testy.”

  
"She's been a bitch all week," Sniper rolled his eyes and handed the bottle back. "S'nearly breedin' season, sheila needs to finally find herself a mate and get a good shag."

  
Demoman laughed aloud. “Och, ye can’t blame her can ye? We all have that issue, hard teh get a good pump out here.”

  
"Oh yeah," Sniper nodded solemnly, then frowned. "We'll 'cept for..."

  
“Eh?” Demo said, seating himself at the table and taking a swig. “‘Cept for who? Someone managed to sneak lassies in the base without me knowin’?”

  
Sniper chuckled nervously and glanced at the door. "Nah, no one mate. Just an inside joke between me n' Chou."

  
He slumped down opposite and took another swig. "Wouldn't mind if someone did though. All them gals in town are a little... eh."

  
“Little eh? Def nae worth an hour’s trip. Fer some ol’ hens and dumps without the good sense to go to college or any place away from here.”

  
He shrugged, drank, then said, “Ye ever just... get the urge to...”

  
"T'what?" Sniper looked up from where he was examining the bottle.

  
“Doll up yer pillow and ‘ave at it?”

  
"Fuckin' hell mate," he burst out laughing. "What about stickin' some eye weave things on y'hand and goin' at that?"

  
Demo roared in laughter , “Och, you admitting to something mate?”

  
"Might be," he grinned over the rim of his drink. "Are you?"

  
“Oh, definitely, ye cannae keep a healthy man away from lassies fer so long and not expect him to start findin’ appealing curves in the Furniture.”

  
He laughed before drinking deeply. "Oh, Mister Demoman," Sniper squeaked, batting his eyelashes. "Looking at my fretwork, you cheeky stallion?"

  
Demo flushed and buried his face in his arms, laughing hysterically. “Yer killin’ me, it's been near six months. I gotta get myself cleaned up and get meself to a bar...”

  
"Why go to a bar when y'could have me?" He had a swallow of scrumpy, puckered his lips and reached across the table. "Does my crest rail not excite you?"

  
Demo clasped his Sniper’s hands between his own, looking about as earnest as one could with tears of mirth still falling from his eyes. “It does it, does, but yer all edges and hard when I like me partners curved and soft.”

  
"B-but... I..." Sniper looked away and sniffed. "I stuffed my slip seat for you!"

  
"It just ain’t the same, doll. I’m sure you'll find a man just for you," he said, patting his shoulder sympathetically.

  
"But Mister Demo, that man is you! No one can please me like you do! I crave your big f... fat- c-c-" Sniper broke down in snickers.

  
Demo burst out laughing, throwing Sniper’s hands down to wipe away his tears. “Och, I win at your game.”

  
Something in the back of Sniper’s mind twinged. His laughter died in his throat. He had just started to feel better too, but playing this gay chicken was a terrible idea, after that mess with medic and BLU Spy.

  
He was glad Demo was enjoying himself. He always made things seem more normal, in a world of respawn and murder.

  
"Damn," he said with a half-forced grin. "Y'always bloody win. S'not fair."

  
But his effort to salvage the mood failed. Demo’s grin faltered, turning to one of sympathy, grabbing Sniper’s wrist and slapping a fresh bottle into his hand. “Ye look like ye need more drink in ye, lad.”

  
"I fuckin' do, mate," he grumbled, popping of the top and having two large gulps. "This even gonna be enough? I wanna get fuckin' pissed."

  
Demoman nodded, “Fer yer skinny arse, aye, but if ye want to get drunk that fast, we’ll be wantin’ to move outside before ye start spewin’.”

  
"Am not skinny, y'fat cunt," He rolled his eyes, mimicking Demo. "But yeah, lemme get m'jacket first."

  
Sniper grabbed a worn leather jacket from the storage under the seats. He could hold his drink just fine, but Demo's stuff was strong and the stench of vomit lingered. Not worth the risk.

  
Sitting out in the evening air was quite nice. The violet remnants of the sunset were quickly fading to midnight blue, in the distance a few dust devils swirled, the family of coyotes that lived up the hills yipped and howled. Everything wasn’t so bad. It had been years since he lived out in the wilderness by himself, and he felt the everpresent tug. Nah, he had too many responsibilities now. Hopefully ones that wouldn’t end, no matter how much they hurt.

  
Bloody hell, even a pretty view was depressing now. He turned away sharply, instead trying to drown out any semblance of feeling he had left. When he first befriended Demoman, just a swallow would get him drunk. Now he had to work for it, probably melting his liver in the process. That probably suggested more than he wanted to think about.

  
“I dunno how ye manage to live in a box at yer height,” Demo said. He had sunk into the pilfered couch beneath the camper’s awning, after a failed attempt at poking around in the ashes of the firepit.

  
"Eh," he shrugged, holding the door open so Chouette could flutter out to her perch. She screeched once and hissed, making it clear she would be more content inside. "S'cozy I suppose. After years of movin' about y'get used t'it."

  
Sniper reached for his packet of cigarettes before thinking better of it. "And t'get good at duckin'." He took off his hat to rub the numb spot on his head.

  
“Maybe I should get one meself, that fooky BLU Sniper gots a ragin’ stauner to blow me head off.”

  
Another bad choice of words. Now he wished he hadn’t learned so much Scottish slang. No sniper should be getting a stauner for anyone, especially not a raging one. He shoved his slouch hat back on, low over his eyes, then collapsed on the couch with a grunt.

  
Demo must have realized his drink hadn’t kicked in hard enough to numb whatever had been eating at him. “So... Medic. He’s a strange fecker, innae?”

  
Sniper watched him sharply. "Whadd'ya mean?"

  
“Just, the shite he pulls. Like literally pullin’ eyes out of corpses and lining them on teh table,” he shuddered, rubbing his own empty eye socket over the patch.

  
His face softened and he took a sip. "Yeah, I guess he's pretty fucked. Y'walked in on him doin' that?"

  
“Aye,” Demo said, looking a bit shaken. “Wonderin’ if he wanted to go drinkin’. Never again. I repeat, never, fecking, again. Especially when he says ‘come in’ instead of answerin’ the door.”

  
"That's a bit more than just fucked up, mate. 'Specially if he knows it was you," Sniper shook his head. "Straight up insensitive."

  
“No kiddin,” he said. “That man... I’m happy as all hell to see him on the battlefield, but off work? Gives me the chills.”

  
Sniper realised that this morning he didn't knock. This whole situation was easily avoidable if he only had decent manners. Suddenly Spy's lectures on basic manners and civility seemed important.

  
"Y-yeah mate. Y'ever had t'go get him when he was late?".

  
“Once or twice. Nothing as fucked as that though. Why?”

  
"Oh just... just wonderin'..."

  
Demo stared at him, as if hesitant to ask. “Whit's worse than pul'in oot eyes?”

  
Two blokes goin' at it. He couldn't help himself. Sniper downed a little too much and broke into a coughing fit. "S-Spy an-"

  
“Eh? Spy was in there?”

  
He managed to pull himself up. "Well... I mean... yeah, but y'know it's not... Y'know what? It doesn't matter. Don't worry 'bout it, mate."

  
Demo was his friend but things like this shouldn't be spoken about. It just wasn't done. Sure, it was treason- that he could report it to Miss Pauling, but the other thing wasn't really his place to mention. Medic was already wound up enough, if Demo let something slip like Sniper just did then it really would be the end.

  
Demo blinked at him, absolutely confused, then shrugged and said, “Okay mate. Clearly ye donnae want teh share. Must have been bad as the seventh circle of hell, and I believe it,” he threw his head back and decided to see how much scrumpy he could chug without drawing breath.

  
Sniper watched Demo and sighed inwardly. It would be good to get this off his chest, especially all that shit that happened in battle, but was that really a good idea?

  
"Fuck it," he drank down some scrumpy. "As Soldier would say, Medic was fraternising' with the enemy."

  
Demo paused, wiped his lips, then screwed up his eyes as he mouthed the word. “Frat.. in...” he tried to say as his head spun. Then a look of surprise popped onto his face. “Och, hol’ that thought, laddie, be right back.”

  
He rushed off behind the van, then, remembering how much Sniper hated pissing around his truck, moved off into the bushes.

  
"Four bloody syllables, mate and y'already need a piss." He couldn't help but chuckle.

  
Sniper idly fondled his cigarette packet. He really wanted a smoke but BLU bloody Spy had put him off. Their ciggies weren't even the same. His were whatever he could snag in town and Spy's were some fancy imports. He grumbled quietly, flicking the top of the paper packet.

  
Raging stauner. Why did Demo have to put those words in his head? Now it was too uncomfortable to put anything cylindrical anywhere near his mouth.

  
Something heavy thumped in the distance.He was overreacting, he had to be. It was actually kind of funny to catch two people going at it, wasn’t it? Especially with how Soldier when off on prissy French people, his insults were proven correct.

  
A mumbled Scottish curse, same area.

  
But it was far from mirth he was feeling. More of a heavy heat, like an uncomfortable blush. He wanted to shake the feeling and run very far away, like any sniper would...

  
"Ey, ey, Sniper-boy, where's toilets, mate?" Sniper looked up, Now Demoman was stumbling back. So soon?

He raised an eyebrow. "Back at base... y'okay, mate?"

  
"Eh... I'm..." he fell onto his hands and knees.

  
"Oi, Demo?" Quickly he jumped to his wobbly feet (the drink actually had been hitting him, he discovered) and crouched down next to Demo. "Demo, mate? Mate, y'okay?"

  
Demo collapsed and didn’t move.

  
"Mate, this ain't funny, stop it." Sniper shook him, calling his name. Then he realised why he wasn’t answering. Demo wasn’t even breathing.

  
"Fuck," he panicked, pulling at Demo's clothes, trying to drag him up. Shit, he was too blasted to carry him. Sniper rolled him onto his back and grabbed his legs, furiously yanking him across the sand.

  
Sniper gave up after falling for the sixth time. "Mate, Demo, mate. Mate, hey." He smacked his face. "Oi, oi c'mon. Wake up."

  
After Demo did not wake up, his first thought was alcohol poisoning, though Demo was only a little more drunk than usual, so that quickly became void. How then...  
Sniper looked back at his van which was only a sad few paces away. "Stay there, mate," he told Demo's body before standing. “I’ll-“

  
He backed into something solid, human, the scent of cigarette smoke filling his senses.

  
A knife pressed against his throat.

  
“A man of good fitness can survive without breathing for about five minutes,” that french accent could only belong to one person. “So don’t try to struggle if you want him to live.”

  
Sniper froze, clenching his jaw. Despite his fingers twitching with the urge to grip his knife, he held still.

  
"Y'wanker," he hissed. "Why can't y'just fuck off?"

  
“You know, your Medic was adamant that you weren’t a gossip. But, of course, my instincts were right. You’re a liability.”

  
"Says the bloke who got himself into this shit," Sniper spat, instinctively furious. "Y'know, maybe if y'didn't go around buggerin' the Doc in our base, we wouldn't have this fuckin' issue."

  
“Mm, perhaps, or perhaps I can fuck who I want, when they want me, and you should have learned to knock,” he murmured, pressing the edge directly into the jugular notch.  
Sniper could feel his pulse work against the blade.

  
“Pity.”

  
Mortality hit home. This wasn't a battle, there was no respawn, this was reality. After dying so often yet always returning, it was terrifying to have that comfort ripped away.  
Oh fuck, he was going to die.

  
What would she do without him? He couldn’t leave her alone. He was all she had left.

  
"D-don't," he was reduced from an angry, rabid hound to a pathetic little whelp in an instant. Father would be so proud.

  
“Tell me,” Spy used his other hand to take his cigarette from his mouth as he blew smoke across the Sniper’s face. “Before this, you’ve looked at me with either shock or hatred. But after this morning, it is something else... disgust. Do I disgust you now, bushman? Does your Medic disgust you?”

  
"No... he- he doesn't."

  
A partial lie. Sniper had been brought up knowing that liking men was wrong, and after his father came back from the war it was hammered in tenfold. His views changed over the years of course. Father turned out to have values that clashed with the world, and traveling for work opened his eyes to different types of people.

  
Yet that same view never really went away. He wasn't against it per say, what people did in private was their own business, as long as they’re not flaunting it. As long as he didn’t know about it.

  
The knife tip pressed in, and Sniper could feel a hot line of blood trickle down. “It would have been quite entertaining prodding that button. You were so like a keypad sometimes.“

  
"Stop." He was supposed to sound commanding, but it came out breathy. A suppressed whimper bubbled in his throat as the blade cut. "S-stop it."

  
Sniper pressed into Spy, trying to put more distance between his jugular and Spy's knife.

  
Spy murmured something too quiet to hear, grabbing Sniper’s hair and pulling his head back, exposing the tender flesh. He moved the knife further, the trickle becoming a stream.

  
Sniper let out a strangled yelp and some other pathetic noise as he tried to struggle against his grip without cutting himself more.

  
"Please- please don't," he whimpered, trembling. "Don't. Please, m'sorry, just- don't, please."

  
The more he struggled, the more blood flowed. BLU Spy was unswayed by his pleading, holding his hair taut, pulling his head back further and to the side, both as punishment and for a better angle, “Seems your arteries are deep, bushman,” he said. “Looks like a more direct approach is needed.”

  
He angled the blade, so the point was directly in the wound, perpendicular to the arteries so as to sever them with one firm plunge.

  
He let out a low pitiful groan. "D-don't. Please don't. I-I won't tell anyone else, please. Please don't kill me."

  
The blade only sank deeper.

  
"Fuck, don't-" Sniper whimpered. He couldn't die here, not now, not when Prue needed him most. A last, desperate resort screeched through his clenched teeth.  
"I-I'll do anythin'! Anythin' y'want, just- just don't..."

  
The blade paused. For a few stuttered heartbeats, they remained frozen. Then the spy spoke.

  
The voice was dark and cold, piqued only by cruel interest. “Anything?”

  
A sense of absolute and final dread crawled up his spine. Sniper only just managed to suppress a shudder.

  
"Y-yeah," he licked his lips and swallowed. "Anythin' y'want."

  
“Interesting,” he murmured. The knife point lingered in the wound then pulled away so it rested horizontally against his throat once again.

  
He let Sniper’s hair go, moving the hand to his shoulder instead and pushing it down. A cue.

  
He winced, resisting the urge to scratch his scalp, and kneeled.

  
Spy smirked, tapping the flat of the blade against Sniper’s adam’s apple. There were so many things he could do with him like this.

  
“I’m sure you’re aware of the primary condition of you leaving here alive,” he said, running one hand down over Sniper’s left arm, down to the sleeve cuff. His arm twitched away ever so slightly.

  
"I-I won't tell anyone what I saw, no one." he assured, trying to look back without turning. “Y'have my word."

  
After checking for weapons on the left, Spy switched knife hands and felt over Sniper’s right arm. “The ‘anything’ will have to come later.”

  
Sniper cringed away. The secondary knife he kept up his right sleeve pressed against his skin, making him shift even more.

  
Spy relieved him of that knife, this time pausing to see if the RED Sniper would rage over this one as well, before pocketing it.

  
Next came hands patting over his chest, searching for a hidden weapon, perhaps in shoulder holsters beneath the vest. Then down to the front pockets. Sniper recoiled. That was too much. His arms, sure. Groping his chest, big no.

  
“Stay still,” Spy ordered lazily, like he was speaking to a hound, putting the blade edge back against Sniper’s throat.

  
"Stop-" he swallowed. "Stop touchin' me."

  
“Flatter yourself however you like,” he said, satisfied that there were no hidden weapons on his torso, and went to his front pockets. “But stay still.”

  
"Stop it." He spoke firmer this time, gaining confidence that his life span stretched far longer than what it was seconds before. "I got one in m'left boot, no where else, s'stop."

  
Spy paused, then agreed. “Well, I doubt you have one strapped to your thigh. You don’t have the legs for it,” he said.

  
The knife was taken away from Sniper’s throat, instead moving to his spine as Spy searched both boots and took the weapons. Sniper's confidence was immediately murdered- and no, it wasn't just the leg comment. He froze. The blade against his spine threw all his suppressed danger warnings back into play. Spy, knife, back. A number one fear for any sniper. His eyes flicked to Demo. How long had it been since he'd stopped breathing? How long before irreversible brain damage took place? "C-can y'just tell me what y'want already?" He asked.

  
“Well, aren’t you eager?” He said, passing Sniper, now satisfied he wasn’t going to be sliced up like last time. He crouched over Demoman, running a fingertip over the nape of his neck, searching for something as the man’s legs drew up towards his chest and kicked out.

  
Sniper watched, half ready to throw himself at Spy should Demo's condition worsen. "What are y'doin' t'him?"

  
BLU Spy paused. “Do you want him to die? Because if so, I can let him suffocate. It's of no consequence to me.”

  
He shook his head, falling silent.

  
Spy pulled something from the back of Demo’s neck, something long and thin that glinted in the moonlight.

  
Demo immediately gasped for air after it was gone, rolling to give his lungs better capacity as he took desperate gulps of it. Spy pulled another out of his back before standing.  
He was twirling the metal piece between his gloved fingers as he walked past Sniper. “Seems you were just in time.”

  
"The hell is that? What did y'do t'him?" He stared at the strange hypodermic-needle-esqe weapon. Looked like something else for him to worry about.

  
“Senbon. Paralysis is such an interesting tool, wouldn’t you agree?” He said, balancing them on his finger before stowing them away.

  
"No, I bloody wouldn't," said Sniper, who rather liked freedom, especially the movement kind.

  
The BLU Spy could stab, shoot, sap and now paralyze. And has him on the hook. What a wonderful day this was turning out to be. He pressed his palm against the wound on his neck, wincing as more blood pumped out and slipped through his fingers.

  
“You should go see your Medic. He’ll be quite surprised, but you wouldn’t want to sell your soul and die anyway.”

  
Sniper very much did not want to see Medic. A dispenser could probably fix this. Demo however... damn, he'd have to go one way or another. "I-I ain't leavin' 'til you're gone," he stood, struggling slightly. "And… and give my shit back."

  
Sniper had glanced at Demo struggling on the ground, but when he looked back, BLU Spy was gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> BLU Spy is a dick.


	4. Sutures and Feathers

Sniper just knew Spy was still hanging around. He steeled himself. That snake wouldn't have the satisfaction of seeing any more weakness.

But long moments passed by without incident, and he launched himself at Demo’s struggling form, his knees kicking up dirt when they skidded on the ground. He shook him. "Mate!" 

No response. "Mate. Mate are y'okay?"

Demo groaned, rubbing his throat, then the back of his neck,”What just happened?”

"BLU Spy," he said simply. "C'mon, let's get y'to Medic."

"BLU Spy? That pumpin' blu fud, what's he doin' 'ere after truce hours?" he muttered, struggling to his feet with the help of Sniper.

"No idea," he lied, badly, offering Demo a shoulder to lean on.

"Alley skulking backstabbing fuds, I hate them Spies."

The medbay door stood rather formidably for two slim swinging doors. Demo winced, "Why ye takin' me here, I'm fine..."

"He put a bloody knittin' needle in y'neck that stopped y'from breathin'. You are goin' t'Medic." 

Sniper instinctively lowered his voice and shifted his weight onto the balls of his feet.

"Waaat" he said. “That sounds bad.”

"Go on then," Rickey nudged him.

“Me? Alone? Nah, mate...”

"I'm not goin' in with you. He'll kill me on sight."

“Then let's just go back, I’m fine,” Demo said, his drunk and loopy state feeding off of Rickey’s fear.

"But what if y'not fine?" Sniper was genuinely worried that Demo might've been poisoned or something of equal concern. "Y'stopped breathin', y'could've died."

“I don’t even know what happened, mate. One moment I was trying teh get to the base, then ye showed up and told me I was goin’ the wrong way, then I saw ye back sittin, then.”

"Which is why y'gotta get checked out," said Rickey affirmatively. Demo should get Medic to look at him just in case, he decided while his own neck was smeared in and steadily dripping blood.

“What about ye? Ye bleedin’ like a stuck...”

“Vhat are you doing out there?”

Sniper nearly shat himself right then and there. He blanched, rubbed at his scar- a bad habit- and fought the primal urge to run.

Medic opened the door, wiping off what looked like blood from his hands onto a leather apron that was equally bloody. He saw Demo, clearly drunk and swaying. When his eyes landed on Sniper, they widened at first, then narrowed.

“Oh. You.”

Sniper’s shirt and vest had been soaked in blood, of course, nearly matching Medic. Demo swayed, grinning in a placating gesture. “We, uh, were in a fight... I think.”

“Clearly.” Medic said, pushing his glasses up. “And I’m very surprised one of you isn’t dead.”

Sniper shrank under Medic's gaze, immediately looking away. One of us might be soon.

"Think somethin's up with Demo," he muttered.

He wasn't sure if he should mention that BLU Spy attacked them. On the plus side it would give Medic a better idea of what to look for. On the downside, well, BLU Spy and Medic were... close. Medic might even be happy that Spy went for him.

“He’s drunk, as always. You’re the one bleeding from the throat.”

"S'fine." He swiped at the wound dismissively, or maybe it was nervous behavior, leaving a fresh smear of blood on his hand. "Demo stopped breathin' for 'bout five minutes."

“If that's true, he’d be a drooling mess,” Medic sniffed. “Well, more so than usual.”

Was it really less than five minutes? It felt like an eternity for Sniper.

Demoman opened his scrumpy bottle, and took a swig as he said this. Medic raised an eyebrow.

“Coordination looks fine, you may go Demo.”

“Aye, mate, cheers.”

Demo started wandering down the hallway.

_ Please don't leave me.  _ His silent begs could not be heard by best mate Demo. He should mention the needle thing. Or would Medic know who that belonged to? This was such a bad idea. He'd gone and fucked himself over.

Medic glared at Sniper’s wound, then decided something. His lips turned into a smirk while his eyebrows narrowed. “Come along inside now, Sniper.”

"I'm- uh, I'm fine," he said, terrified by Medic's smirk. "Y'seem kinda busy, s-so I'll just sort this m'self."

“Oh, don’t be silly. I can make time for you.”

"Y'don't have to, s'nothin' t'worry about."

He needed a way out of this. Sniper wasn't ready to talk to Medic or deal with whatever consequences he'd come up with.

“I’m not here to play games, Sniper. If you die, that reflects negatively on me, despite my personal feelings on the matter.”

Medic just came out and said it. Huh. At least he knew Medic wouldn't flat out kill him now. 

Yay?

"I... yeah, okay then." Sniper reluctantly gave in. Now that death wasn't on the table, he didn't feel as tense.

There happened to be a sheet covered body on the main surgical table, over which the quickfix was situated, so Medic steered him to the other one. The one he had caught them buggering on.

Sniper's toes curled in his boots and he scratched at the scarred side of his face but didn't resist. He did his best not to look uncomfortable. There was no need to further antagonize Medic.

Medic had watched his posture as he steered him towards the table that made him so uncomfortable this morning as he collected up his suture kit.

“Oh, most unfortunate. I seem to be out of painkillers.”

Medic sounded so apathetic he almost laughed. 

Sniper also doubted his painkiller claim, but if it made Medic feel better then he would just have to deal with it.

"Just get it over with."

“Mm,” he said. He could wash his hands of dead man’s blood, but it was a waste of time seeing any infection he would incur would be cured in the next match. Except if...

He snapped on gloves over his bloodstained hands. He tilted Sniper’s chin up, fingers surprisingly gentle and soft beneath the cool surgical rubber. A fresh gush of blood flowed forth as the forming clot was disturbed. “You got your dirty hands all over it.”

Sniper flinched ever so slightly. Having anyone near his throat for any reason was horrible. Spy had ruined that for him too.

Medic, however, surprised him. He expected the doctor to be rough with him, not bother with gloves, that sort of thing. Yet he got this. If he was being honest, it wasn't as bad as he expected. Maybe he could even say he was pleasantly surprised. Stop. Sniper was beginning to realise how touch-starved he really was.

"What else was I supposed t'do?" He grumbled, ignoring every coherent thought he just had. "Bleed everywhere?"

“You’ve already bled everywhere,” he replied, opening the wounds between two fingers to peer inside. Sniper clenched his jaw when Medic went prodding. “If you had struggled more he might have nicked the artery,” he murmured, more to himself than Sniper. “At least you weren’t so stupid as to draw your chin to your chest. Many people instinctively do so and die.”

So he did know it was BLU Spy's work.

"Not like I had much choice," he grunted. His scalp still ached from where Spy had yanked his hair.

“Oh? You should thank him then,” he said, now setting up the curved suture needle. “At least one of you knows how to play with knives properly. Though it’s certainly not something you should after drinking.”

"Again, not like I had a bloody choice." Sniper felt slightly insulted as he eyed the needle, then scared. Sharp things near his throat were worrying, especially now.

“You should talk to him then,” he said, prodding the skin to prepare it for the needle. “Breathe and don’t move. Or do so, it’ll hurt you more than it’ll annoy me. ,” he said, puncturing the skin with sharp ease. “I understand men like it rough, but if....”

"Stop." Sniper hissed through gritted teeth. He clenched his fist so hard the knuckles cracked. "I ain't one of you bloody queers, so shut the fuck up."

“Well now. That's a very curious thing to say to a man with a needle in your throat,” he said, smiling pleasantly. “I was only joking of course.”

He punctured the other side of the skin and twisted it deftly into a surgical knot, tighter than it should be. “There we are, nice and snug...”.

"Thanks." Sniper grunted. At least he had the decency of gratitude.

Congrats on provoking Medic. The one bloody thing y'said y'wouldn't do. He could beat himself up over poor life choices later.

“Are you certain you’re alright with having ‘one of us bloody queers’ this close to you?” He said, jabbing the next section of skin and sewing it up, the pleasant tone and smile persisting, though his hands getting rougher.

He was very uneasy now. Sharp thing in his neck had him on edge enough and the creepy smiling German doctor was not helping.

"Look," he growled. "It ain't any of my business who y'do in your spare time, Doc. Just don't bring it up with me and we won't have a problem."

He laughed, pausing in his work. “Oh that is quite rich, coming from you.”

"What?" He glared, not realizing what Medic was referencing. "I ain't never poked around in your personal shit."

“You haven’t, this is true. That’s why I allowed myself to be convinced we could pretend this didn’t happen. Then you attacked me.”

Before Sniper could say his explanation, Medic continued, “Yes, yes, spy check mistakes happen, I’m not talking about what you did, it was what you said.”

"It wasn't about you! I thought y'were that bloody Spy, I didn't mean-" Sniper started protesting, suddenly he understood. "I... I don't have a problem with y'Doc, honest."

“I will have you know that knocking on doors will keep you from seeing things you don’t want to see.”

"I know, I know," he muttered. The true enemy here was his lack of basic manners. "Y'know, maybe if y'weren't always so bloody late..."

“I get caught up in important things. Time sensitive things. Biology doesn’t wait for convenience,” he said, finishing the last knot and stepping back to appraise his work. “Well, perhaps not this morning, but you know what I mean.” He handed him a towel as Archimedes cooed down from the rafters.

Sniper dabbed his wound gingerly. It was so strange to be worrying about such a minor pain compared to the usual fatal injuries.

He looked up at Archimedes, careful not to disturb the new stitches. "Uh, g'day," he greeted the bird, reverting back to his usual stereotypical aussie greeting like always when he was nervous around new people. Archimedes felt like a challenge or a family member he had to please. Like a grandma who's approval he needed to be accepted. Fail here and you're an outcast sort of thing.

Intimidated by a bloody pidgeon. Fuckin' hell Rickey.

Medic looked up at Archimedes as Metrodora came to perch next to her mate. “Don’t tell me you’re afraid of birds too.”

"Me? Nah. Love 'em. Your lot are just... intense." Calling doves intense seemed off to him as soon as he said it. He owned a raptor after all, yet there was something so concerning about a flock of white birds staring at you. Owls always seemed to look through you. Doves tilted their weird little heads to get a better look.

“Intense? Never heard zhat before.” he chuckled. Archimedes fluttered down to settle on Medic’s shoulder, his eyes like two bright red-brown beads as they watched Sniper. “Well, perhaps they take after zheir father.”

"Creepy, unsettlin', always covered in blood..." Sniper listed, ticking off his fingers as he watched Archimedes. It was very worrying to have a bird look right at him after being around Chouette for so long. "Yeah, they bloody do."

Medic chuckled as the pigeon flew onto Rickey’s shoulder, the one covered in blood, and, fluffing up his lower feathers, settled down.

Medic’s eyebrows raised ever so slightly, “Oh.”

Sniper's shoulders raised slightly and he leaned his head away.These birds were so much different to Chou. All fluffy with tiny feet that didn't tear up his shirt and shoulder.

"Um, g'day... mate?" Was he being polite enough? Or was calling this bird 'mate' too informal for a first meeting? Shit the alcohol was still thick in his blood.

It's a bloody pigeon, calm down.

Archimedes cooed, then nuzzled his head just under his wound where the blood was still wet.

“He likes you,” Medic said, lips pursed slightly. Clearly he hadn’t expected this.

Oh no. Sniper could feel his heart melting. Double oh no He couldn't help it. The dorkiest, most genuine lopsided grin spread across his face. Triple oh no. This bird was really fucking cute. Sure, the nuzzle hurt a little, but it was still a nuzzle. A quiet chuckle slipped through his lips.

"I uh, like him too."

All hostility he had for this man, hidden beneath his usual façade, evaporated.

“He usually only does that when a subject’s abdominal cavity is open,” he said. Then he paused, knowing normally that doesn’t endear other people to his pets. It was just nice to have other people appreciate his favorite kinder. “Unless it's me of course. He does seem to have a fascination with blood, not sure why.”

Still endearing only to someone like himself. Oh, he’ll just be quiet now.

Sniper’s grin only widened as he let out a bark of laughter. A gentle finger reached out to Archimedes. "Just like his bloody dad, eh? Always fuckin' about inside bodies, likes blood, perfect match. Y'must be so proud of him."

"Just like a child of my own body," he agreed, a warm feeling spreading in his chest. Archimedes cooed as the finger stroked his feathers, turned to Sniper, pecking escaped strands of hair.

Something inside him began to twinge with all the references to children. He ignored it.

"Oh here we go," Sniper rolled his eyes jokingly. "S'always the bloody hair. With every single fuckin' bird they always go after the hair."

"Is that why the hippies like long hair so much?" Medic asked, stepping forward to offer his finger to the pigeon, but he was much more interested in the new toy.

He squared his jaw and glared. "I ain’t bloody hippie."

“You’re not?” he said, pausing with a frown, then shrugging. “I don’t know the English word for it then.”

"Try ' a bloke with long hair', Doc. Or 'lack of decent barbers 'round here'."

His face softened as Archimedes pressed against him, trying to get under hair with cuddling coos. He reached around the back of his head and pulled the ribbon loose so the pigeon had more hair to snuggle with. Hair ties would be more convenient, but he preferred the charm of ribbons.

"M'not even close t'what a hippie is..." Sniper was always defensive when being called a hippie. Soldier used to berate him nonstop about his hair.

“Ah, I see, vell-“ a timer went off, causing Archimedes to startle and tangle himself in the hair. Medic whirled around. “Ah, my samples!”

Sniper winced as Archimedes pulled at his hair. "Oi, calm down mate, just a sec-" he spoke gently to the bird, carefully detangling him. Sniper was an excellent bird detangler after all the times that Chouette had attached herself to his head.

Medic had bustled over to the counter, where a burner burned bright, bubbling a beaker filled with viscous blue fluid.

Sniper was not, however, excellent at science. The colour suggested dangerous and highly toxic, which was never a good thing. "The hell is that, Doc?"

“Oh this? This is...” He trailed off as he frowned, swirling the beaker. “Mm, not what I expected...” He then moved to the fridge. Organs on petri dishes, beers, and a half eaten sandwich were in full view as he looked through the selection. 

“Pah, none of these would...” he paused, tapping a bloodied hand to his chin. “Unless...”

Medic often did this when a train, no, swarm of thoughts, went through his head, speeding through his mind, faster than his mouth could form before they flitted away to be replaced by something else.

Sniper thought, from the state of the doctor's fridge, that someone should educate Medic on cross contamination. He watched Medic curiously as he finished freeing the pigeon. Usually he would've found an excuse to be out of the medbay by now, never really able to see this side of Medic. Somehow it seemed intrusive.

"Ah, well um, y'seem busy so... I'll get goin'. Kept y'long enough anyway. Sorry."

“Hmm? Oh, right,” he said, not even looking over, almost completely absorbed. “Have a good evening.”

The pigeon was grateful, so his next move was to settle atop of his hat until Sniper began to move towards the door, to which he fluttered back up with his fellows.

He watched Medic for a moment longer before nodding to the birds and taking his leave.

Well then. He'd be up all night, that was certain. There were... lots of things to think about.

Before Sniper made it out the door Medic paused, looking up from his work. “Oh, and Sniper?”

"Mm?" He looked back over his shoulder.

“If you ever pejoratively use ‘queer’ to refer to me again, I’ll suture your testicles to your tonsils.”


	5. quick update

Hi everyone, this is Tea.

So it's been a while since we've updated this fic and for that, we're sorry.  
We really do appreciate every single person who took the time to read our work, leave a kudo and comment. It's so amazing and wonderful to see that people enjoy what we write.  
The last two months have been pretty hectic. SmolMeeM started her new business and I now work full time which leaves us with little time to write. On top of that, I've been dealing with creative burnout for a while now which really doesn't help.  
This fic and these characters mean a lot to us and so does your love for them. Looking back at this and reading the comments from people excited for the new chapter makes us SO happy, and to this very day it blows our minds that anyone would actually like the stuff we make, which is why I want to apologize.  
I'm sorry for leaving it this long and I take full blame for the lack of new chapters.  
To be completely honest, I don't really like TF2 anymore. The bots within the game, the toxic part of the community and the obvious abandonment from Valve have pushed me away.  
But I don't want to just leave this in fic in an unfinished state. It's not fair to make you wait this long, especially after all the support you've shown us, just to be told that it probably won't be finished.  
We will try to finish it.  
Whether it takes the next few months or years, we'll try our best. 

I hope you're all doing okay with the quarantine and any other problems that are going on within your life and, it might not be much, but I wish you all the best no matter what.

Thank you for sticking with us. We love each and every one of you, and we'll see you in the next chapter.


	6. Reflections of Old Aussies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> smolMeeM: Hi everyone! Quick little update. Sorry for taking so long. Going through life changes but now, for better or worse, I’m back in a writing state of mind.
> 
> Content Warning: Historical homophobia from an old Aussie. Tea interviewed a grandpa about how gays were seen back then and I used my own experiences with homophobic boomers.

It had been said with such a pleasant tone and smile, one hand behind his back, the other held before him in his studious pose, ever the professional german doctor when his excitement didn’t get the best of him. The sheer contrast between his words and capabilities and his presentation and manners…

He draped his arm over his face and groaned. He always had to say something, make a conversation awkward, then lay awake at night squirming against how bloody embarrassing he was. Medic had a charming smile that could put anyone at ease, or quell their anger. He’d seen it used on Pyro, when Pyro went on his giggling rampages, on Soldier flying into a rage, even once causing their Heavy to soften up for a moment.

Was that how he got BLU Spy?

He shook his head to clear it. Nope, nada, he wasn’t thinking about that stupid bloody Spy. He wanted to avoid any and all thoughts associated with him and that deal he made.

Oh god, what the hell was he going to ask of him?

Sniper snapped up off his bed, and with nervous energy he gathered up all the clothes he had into a sack ready to go to the laundry. Then he remembered he had been threatened to be killed by one teammate, given death glares by two, and everyone except Demo was in a really sour mood towards him. No one should be awake, but was it really worth the risk? And who knows if BLU Spy was skulking about

Chouette glared at him from her perch, stomping her feet in annoyance for daring to exist after annoying her earlier. Damn, he couldn’t even catch a break from his own pet tonight.

“Why can’t y’be more like Archimedes? Y’could sate your bloodthirst while bein’ bloody nice for once…”

And he was back to Medic already. Of course he was, Medic’s relationship with his birds was something enviable. Sniper longed for a deep connection of the same nature, be it animal or otherwise. He was still trying to figure it out with Chouette. 

She'd been gifted to him after his old mentor died many years back. But she was nearly a year old by that time, leaving her unable to properly imprint. Their relationship was a rocky one. Barn owls were testy creatures and much more fussy than the hawks he'd trained previously. In the first few months, he wondered if he wasn't ready for an owl. Chou seemed to hate him. Unfortunately, he had to keep moving around, leaving little time for him to find her a new carer. He'd also unnecessarily worried about Chouette going for his daughter, though the owl seemed to tolerate his her-  _ no. _

“Hey, y’wanna go for a fly?” Sniper needed to get out of the van, better to distract his mind from everything. Medic’s birds were allowed to roam free, maybe Chouette needed more of it. Or maybe he was just feeling rejected and paranoid and sad.

She blinked at him as he approached. He pulled on his falconer’s glove and offered a fist. Chou glared at him before climbing on, chewing on his finger as he stepped outside. 

“Right, get going, shelia,” he said, jerking his arm up. She screeched and flapped her wings at him, swooping her head left and right. “Get goin’ then.”

She ruffled her feathers and took off.

As she flew, he suddenly felt hollow- no, lonely. The wilderness was a great place to be alone with your thoughts. But his thoughts were exactly what he was trying to avoid.

His father’s voice snarled through his skull.

_ If I ever catch you hangin’ around that Morris boy again you’ll be black and fuckin’ blue. No bloody son of mine is gonna be seen with that root rat fairy. _

James Morris... Sniper remembered him well. Blond hair, brown eyes, rounder face, the dark whisps of his moustache just starting to grow in. He muscular like most other boys, but he was effeminate and just enough of an outsider to warrant the rumours. Sniper didn't even know liking men was possible until James Morris's sexuality was brought into question.

His father was livid when he found out that his son dared to associate with someone who would fall out of the norm, and he made sure Sniper knew it. 

He was almost sure that his father would've snapped his neck if he'd turned out like James Morris.

__ Sniper swallowed. His father would've wanted Medic dead. Lots of old Australians would want Medic dead. 

They would want him dead too if he were queer.

But he wasn’t queer, so that was fine. 

He wondered if some people thought the same of him as they did James Morris. He'd never had any luck with girls. His skinny frame and lanky shape made him pretty undesirable. Girls didn’t really seem to like him until he got out of Australia. Then he got married and had a daughter.

He once drunkenly asked a friend why no one complained about lesbians as much. 

_ Well, I dunno. A lesbian wouldn’t try to get on you, would she? _

He swallowed yet again. Spy pretended to try to “get on” him, hadn’t he? And he  _ liked it. _

_ No, no, no. _ That wasn’t what he felt. It wasn’t what he felt at all. It had just been a long time, that was all, just like Demo mentioned.

He shoved his hands in his pockets and hiked up a nearby hill. Chouette circled above, silent while the wind blew, sagebrush rustled and crickets sang. Good, he could hear someone coming, if they would be coming. Spy was only stealthy when no one was the wiser, or explosions and gunfire masked his approach. His hand went down to his knife, a machete. How many knives had BLU Spy stolen from him during that frisk?

He had been so close, he could smell his smoke and cologne. He had touched him, lightly running his hands down his arms and patting his chest and sides. Looking back, it wasn’t groping, but it certainly felt like it at the time. Spy had held his literal life in his hands, and everything that happened before it... He still squirmed to think about it. He hated being touched. He especially hated being touched by him.

_ Did he? _

_ Yes. _

_ Then what was that shit when he had the knife to your throat during the battle. When he acted like he was about to kiss you? _

“Shut it. Shut the hell up!”

From up in the air, Chouette screeched.

His head hurt, and he didn’t know whether it was from the stress or from sobering up. Probably both.

All he knew was tomorrow morning was going to be absolute hell.


End file.
